Gate of Kings
by Iorek Byrnison
Summary: It's all cyclical and Jim's spinning in his mind. Spinning and spinning until he flies out of control. In this moment "this time" transforms into "every time". Every long pale limb thrown, curled, locked against his back, every strand of inky black hair that stubbornly sticks to a damp forehead is its own personal euphoria. Jim/Spock explicit SLASH, an exercise in cerebral sex.


**Gate of Kings**

_iorekbyrnison_

He's like a bad habit, something Jim can't break, isn't quite aware of. He's like an addiction and Jim is the addict, coming back for "just this once more" over and over again. A curse, a plague, blood _boiling_ beneath his skin, igniting a chemical fire that burns, maybe eternally.

And he _wants_ eternity in his grasp.

But if sweaty hips had an infinite scope of potential and the sting of skin breaking under blunt fingernails ever ceased, Jim thinks he'd be okay with that as well, as long as he could begin anew over and over listening to the moans falling from gasping lips. As long as he could gaze upon the green flush of normally pale marbled skin.

He'd be okay with that _maybe_.

"Jim!" and the Captain moans, because Spock's never been this tight around him before, except he has hundreds, _thousands_, maybe _millions_ of times. In this moment he travels through time, breaches the barriers of the universe, eclipses his memory with visions of grandeur, of pleasure, of stinging delicious pain. It's all cyclical and Jim's spinning in his mind. Spinning and spinning until he flies out of control. In this moment "this time" transforms into "every time". Every long pale limb thrown, curled, locked against his back, every strand of inky black hair that stubbornly sticks to a damp forehead is its own personal euphoria.

Jim moans because he is truly overwhelmed with whatever this is, screams because he thinks, _knows_ it's probably _love_ and he has the urge, primal, dark, to mark his Vulcan any way possible. He needs to tell the universe of his claim, even if he is only speaking to the stars blanketing them through the view window of the observation deck. It's so significant, so fucking _ecumenical_, he feels as if his dick could ink a tattoo into Spock, fill the man up until he's absolutely brimming with an essence that screams "Jim!"

It's more than what they are, more than destiny, more than fate. The golden bond they share hums pleasantly in the back of Jim's mind and he groans when he begins to feel phantom sensations of his own calloused fingers gripping his hips and a hot throbbing cock brutally pistoning against his prostate. Only with Spock could he have this sweet pulsing paradise.

"Jim!" and the Captain murmurs sweet nothings into Spock's ears, barely aware of the words he himself speaks as he rocks in and out of his First Officer's quivering hole. Spock is curled up around him, urging his lover faster and deeper, but Jim thinks blissfully of the Vulcan splayed our before him, arching his spine in an almost impossible curve, muscled chest heaving, eyes clenched, and moaning with an abandon that is so diametrically opposed to Spock's normal persona, it's almost like he's looking at an entirely different person.

And maybe he is? Maybe there are two Spock's. Two people who act two completely different ways. But Jim is okay with that because no matter which Spock is the Spock he's looking at, lover or coworker, bond mate or confidante, friend or First Officer, Spock always, _always_, acts for Jim, solely for Jim, only for the safety and well-being of his Captain.

"Jim!" Spock is unraveled and Jim can't help but snap his hips, pushing himself with painfully sinful force into his lover.

"Oh, Spock, God! Love you! _Love you!_" Jim shouts, whispers, paints into Spock's pointed ear with a hot, wet, brush of his tongue.

"_Thyla_!" and then they're both incoherent, a mass of writhing, clutching fingers and stroking tongues. The rut against each other like animals, the infinity of space as their only witness. It's perfect, beautiful, something epic, maybe poetic, but also seamlessly grotesque and dirty in its exclusiveness when the two men finally tumble over the edge into blissful oblivion of orgasm.

They hold each other in the aftermath, panting like they've just ran a marathon, but Jim is smiling faintly when his withdraws his cock from Spock. There is a soft, lewd squelching sound that echoes between them, but neither of the men pay attention to it. Jim's too fascinated by the feel of Spock's chest beneath his fingertips, too overwhelmed to do anything but fling himself to cuddle up with his lover as Spock wraps strong arms around his naked body with a contented purr. It's all comfort after that, though Spock is returning swiftly to his normal controlled state. Neither of them can summon up the energy to move away.

"Love you Spock," Jim mumbles into his lover's shoulder. Spock doesn't reply verbally, but Jim can feel a warmth spread across his mind wrapping him in harmony and the soft brush of words foreign to him.

"_Ashayam_."

"_Thyla_."

And the two of them spend a great deal of time there on the observation deck just basking in each other watching the stars.

Like a bad habit that neither of them are willing to break.

* * *

Annnnnnd so I have once again written a oneshot instead of working on my already extensive prompt list or already existing stories. In my defense I did crank this one out onto several napkins on my lunch break the other day. Anyway, I call it poetic porn with a very free verse flavor-thing. I hope you guys liked this one. Nu!Spock and Nu!Kirk are my new favorite people (How can you not like Quinto and Pine? MMMM)

I'm back in school now, so I imagine my updating speed will not change. The boat of free time has long since sailed, but I hope to get a bit of writing in before Fall Break.

As always, thanks for reading and be so kind as to review!

Until next time!


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